


The Faolfir

by tylerfucklin (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Folklore, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Only not?, Oral Sex, Selkies, courting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tylerfucklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Realization struck Stiles and he had to stumble back against a tree for support. He wasn’t a hunter, he was a faolfir, a wolf shifter. Stiles had taken his pelt and prevented him from returning to his pack because he was trapped as a human without it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for[ marvilleguy](http://marvilleguy.tumblr.com) on tumblr. (:

“I’m a great hunter. I have a proverbial _mountain_ of untapped potential, you know,” Stiles muttered, hitching the leather sack higher up on his shoulder. Scott struggled to keep up, feet slipping over giant rocks that Stiles had deemed mandatory to jump on and over as they made their way across the bank. 

“That’s cool,” he wheezed, “but if you don’t figure out how to at least kill a deer or something before the winter solstice, you’re gonna have to wait a whole year until the next time they hold the adulthood ceremony.”

Stiles made a face, sliding down the mossy side of a rock and adjusting his leather tunic when it started to ride up the back of his thigh. He shot Scott a frustrated look. “Just because you got a lucky shot in last year doesn’t make you more grown up than I am.”

Laughing breathlessly, Scott followed Stiles up through the cluster of trees that broke out into the lake. “I never said that--hey, look.”

Stiles looked to where Scott was pointing, ducking down instinctively at his friend’s startled whisper. There was a man in the center of the lake, probably only a handful of summers older than the two of them. He was nude, with dark hair on his head and an equally dark path of hair on his stomach leading down to his groin. He was definitely not someone from their village. Stiles would have recognized a body like that.

Stiles’ rucksack slid on his hip, herbs and fruits shifting as he tried to get a better view of the man. 

“Who’s that?” Scott asked. Stiles shook his head.

“I don’t know, a hunter? We’re way outside of the village.“ Stiles frowned in concentration, watching the hunter as he dipped his body under the water, resurfacing and rubbing dirt and grime from his skin. Bathing. “You know, it was probably a bad idea to come out here just to get some flowers for Allison when the possibility of maiming or disembowelment could be in our future. What if he’s a cannibal?”

Scott made a face when Stiles turned to look at him. “Why would he be a hunter if he’s a cannibal?”

“He could hunt _humans_ ,” Stiles hissed. Scott scoffed, shaking his head in wry amusement. Stiles bristled, just the tiniest bit, but he shrugged away the anger at Scott’s dismissive behavior. Instead, Stiles focused his attention on moving in the opposite direction of the hunter. He stepped lightly, eyes catching something dark against the forest floor nearby that had him stilling. 

“Huh?” Stiles approached it, crouching and flicking away leaves that had piled around the cluster of large rocks. There was a pelt hidden there, the fur entirely black, rolled up and concealed. It must have been worth a great deal. Stiles brushed his fingers over the fur, marveling at the softness. It’d be perfect to use for the encroaching cold of autumn nights. His father may have been the chieftain, but that often meant they gave away half their things to villagers who were more in need of them. Stiles usually ended up with the ratted old buck skin until his father felt like busting out the bear furs for the winter. 

This, however, would keep him warm on those nights.

“What’s that?” Scott asked when Stiles pulled the pelt out. Stiles grinned, re-rolling it and pulling back the flap to his rucksack.

“Mine.” Stiles said simply, tucking it away and then chancing a look to the hunter, who was currently swimming up towards the waterfall. Excellent. They had plenty of time to head back to the village before the hunter noticed his missing pelt. Normally Stiles would feel bad, but if he was going to deal with living with his father for another year because he couldn’t pass a stupid adulthood rite, he was going to do it in style.

“Dude, are you stealing that?” Scott hissed, tripping over himself to keep up when Stiles began heading back in the direction they came. Stiles glanced up at the sun, shading his eyes and then adjusting their direction slightly to the east before he picked up his pace.

“Define stealing.” Stiles ducked under a branch, eyes focused on the ground to watch for roots and rocks that might trip him up.

“What would YOU define it as?” Scott cried, struggling to keep up, “Cuz I’m pretty sure what you’re doing is stealing.”

Stiles started a light jog, his leather shoes doing little to stop various things in the underbrush from digging into his feet as he moved. Scott was already staggering behind, breathing labored from his weak lungs. “I would prefer to call it ‘borrowing indefinitely’,” Stiles corrected, already letting Scott’s complaints fall on deaf ears. Nothing was going to take away the excitement that came with thinking of snuggling up warm in bed with his new awesome pelt tonight. 

When they got back to the village, Stiles made a beeline for his home, knowing his father would be out and about until sunset. He dropped his satchel on the table by the hearth, nuts and fruits scattering across the wood from the force of it, and headed for his bedroll in the corner. Letting his father see the pelt would bring up too many questions, so Stiles tucked it beneath the two giant pillows stuffed with goose and dove feathers. They were plump enough that his father wouldn’t be able to notice that something was stashed beneath them. 

Stiles sat back, admiring his work with a proud grin. He was awesome.

[x]

By the third day without a word from his father, Stiles figured it safe to assume his dad either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t dare to ask. Which was fine for Stiles, because he now slept like a babe come nightfall, only to wake up warm and well rested. The pelt was softer than Stiles could have ever imagined, and, surprisingly, smelled amazing. Stiles couldn’t help but inhale deeply every night he nestled in for bed, and wake up with the same tired snuffle of the soft fur. It was probably the greatest investment Stiles had ever made.

Stiles fiddled with the old bow he’d borrowed from Allison as he headed out of the village. Today he was going to hunt himself a deer. He’d bring back a nice, big buck and his father would be so proud to give Stiles his own arm band that finally signified Stiles as an adult. Stiles was already daydreaming about what his hut would look like, and maybe the possibility of courting Lydia or Danny. Stiles was pretty sure Danny would turn him down without a second thought, but he had a fair chance with Lydia. She seemed easily impressed by skill. Either way, Stiles' hut would be big enough that they wouldn't crowd each other, and he could build all the furnishings himself. He might have Scott and his father help with the hearth. Stiles had never been very good at making clay bricks.

After a few minutes of walking, Stiles headed up towards the river. He’d follow it close to where the hunter had been earlier. Not that Stiles wanted to run into said hunter, but it was likely there would be more game in the area, as it was just outside the normal hunting grounds for the village. Stiles slowed his pace down when he caught a boar off in the distance, grazing on a shrub, and he ducked down. 

His quiver shifted on his back when Stiles drew out an arrow, shifting and pulling back. He closed one eye, letting the arrow fly and watching in dismay as it shot wild, startling the boar into a run. Stiles leapt to his feet, making it two steps before a hand grabbed his wrist and dragged him back. 

Stiles yelped, the quiver of arrows digging into his back when he was shoved up against the nearest tree. His eyes went comically wide when he realized the person who had grabbed him was the hunter from the other day. The very naked hunter, who looked entirely displeased at Stiles’ existence.

“Holy God,” Stiles choked out, right before the pissed off hunter grabbed his face and leaned in to angrily sniff at him. Stiles’ heart thundered madly in his chest, mouth gaping in a struggle to think of something to say. Even if he had come up with some sort of excuse or apology to give the hunter, it would have been stifled because the man was suddenly kissing Stiles with a surprising force.

Stiles, well, he may have shared a few awkward kisses with Scott and this one girl from the next village over, but it was nothing like this. The hunter was biting at Stiles’ lips, pressing in and shoving his tongue forward to lap sloppily at the bites before kissing him again. Stiles was in a haze of shock, pain, and blindsided arousal. That’s when he felt the hand fumbling with the tie for his tunic. He gasped, reaching up and pushing at the hunter.

“Woah dude, what?” Stiles croaked, and then promptly forgot what he was going to say when the guy dropped to his knees and nuzzled at Stiles’ crotch, mouthing him right through his trousers and making Stiles practically shriek in surprise. “Wh-what the hell? Oh my God, oh my _God,_ “ that tongue came back again, licking and pressing at the outline of Stiles’ hardening cock, coaxing it to life. 

Stiles clutched to the hunter’s shoulders, his legs shaking with the effort to stay upright. He could feel large, calloused hands tugging at his trousers, wrenching them down and pulling out Stiles’ half-hard erection. Stiles could only stare in numb shock as the man gave the head of Stiles’ cock a determined stare and then sucked it into his mouth.

“Gods!” Stiles cried out, fingers curling into the hunter’s flesh, nails digging in as he was engulfed in wet heat. The hunter swallowed around Stiles’ cock, bobbing his head and stroking the base relentlessly. Stiles keened, fingers scrabbling for purchase and burying themselves in the hunter’s dark hair, holding tight and trying not to thrust up into that sinfully amazing mouth. 

He had no idea what was going on, his head was spinning and his body felt like it was on fire. He could feel the quiver of Allison’s arrows digging into his back, could see his bow discarded just a few feet away, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

One second all he could focus on was the intense pleasure and the slurping noises that came from his cock popping in and out of the hunter’s mouth, and then he felt a rush of weakness before he was coming with a shout. He spilled down the man’s throat, thick pulses that were swallowed entirely as a set of intense green eyes watched Stiles heave for air. 

The hunter pulled away, wiping bits of cum from the corner of his mouth with his wrist. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse rumble that sent shivers down Stiles‘ spine. 

“Can I have it back?”

Stiles stared blankly back at the hunter, and then dragged his eyes down to where the man’s dick was hanging heavy between his legs, jutting out in a state of half-arousal. “Uhm, uh--okay.” Stiles stammered. Was that what was going on? The guy wanted some kind of mutual orgasms thing? Why Stiles? Did he even know that Stiles was the one who took his pelt? What was going on? Was this some sort of ritual that had to be performed before the hunter demanded his fur back?

The hunter stood and Stiles reached for his cock, fingers wrapping around the base of the shaft hesitantly. This was so far out of his league. Not that he was complaining--Stiles was all for getting a little handsy with nameless men from outlying villages who happened to be far too attractive for their own good. It wasn’t like he hadn’t a fantasy or two during some of his personal time in the bedroll after seeing the hunter bathing the other day.

“Okay, so,“ Stiles began hesitantly, pumping the man’s cock and bringing it to full hardness. “I’ve only done this with myself and this one time with Scott that we don't really talk about...so don’t expect anything mind blowing.“

The hunter looked disgruntled, staring at where Stiles was stroking him nervously. His breathing was starting to pick up, one hand rising to grasp at Stiles’ shoulder as he looked at Stiles and grunted, “how many more times?"

Stiles stared, fisting tighter. "I don't know. How many times does it take?" Did this guy have the stamina of a bull or something? Was that what he was implying? Stiles was starting to second guess if the hunter had wanted a hand job when a frustrated scowl came to the man's face. It dissipated quickly, though, when Stiles started to get a rhythm. Instead, he braced himself with his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, breath coming out in small puffs. Stiles watched, enraptured, as the hunter started to fuck into the circle of Stiles’ hand, mouth open just enough to drag in a few soft, ragged breaths.

Leaning in, Stiles pressed a kiss to that slackened mouth. He couldn’t help himself, the guy just looked so perfect that it was impossible to resist. The hunter pressed back hesitantly, mouth opening to Stiles’ tongue as a soft whimper escaped him--muffled into Stiles’ lips--and he spilled all over Stiles’ hand, body shaking through his climax. Stiles stroked him through the aftershocks, kissing gasps from the hunter’s mouth like they were some sort of addictive fruit. 

When he finally pulled back, he stared down at the mess of his hand and then up at the hunter, who looked slightly less aggravated than he had before. “That was, uh, nice…” Stiles began, smiling hesitantly at the man.

The hunter caught his breath, tongue flitting out to wet his lips. “Can I have it back, now?”

It took Stiles a beat to understand what the hunter was asking for. When he did, he felt a flush rise from his shoulders, straight up to his neck and ears. "Uhm...do you-- oh...do you mean the fur? I don't think most people perform sexual favors for the person who stole their pelt…” Stiles reached down, tucking himself back into his trousers as the hunter released a low punch of a snarl. 

Jumping in surprise, Stiles quickly wiped his hand off on his tunic and stammered out, “Uh, yeah. I will go and get it, okay. Why don’t you just, uh. Stay here.” 

Stiles could feel the hunters eyes on him as he retreated, heading back for the village on shaking legs. 

[x]

The hunter was still there when Stiles came back with the pelt tucked into his rucksack. When the man reached for the pelt, Stiles instinctively wrenched his hand back. He kind of didn’t want this to be the last time he saw the hunter. He wanted to talk to him, to learn his story--to maybe try and understand what had occurred earlier. “Look,” he began awkwardly, fingers clenching in the pelt, “I’m sorry I took it. You just left it out and, gotta be honest, it’s really warm at night with this thing.”

Growling quietly, the hunter’s hand went for Stiles’ crotch again. Stiles stumbled back out of the way, because now there _had_ to be some sort of misunderstanding going on. “Woah, okay. All right, I think we need to establish that, despite how much I enjoy it, you are not obligated to suck me off just to get your fur back.”

Stiles handed over the pelt and the man stared as he took it. It was a sharp, focused look, one that made Stiles’ hair stand on end with the feeling of being scrutinized. The hunter‘s brows pinched together in confusion. “Why did you take it, then?” 

Fidgeting with the hem of his tunic, Stiles shrugged a shoulder and focused somewhere beyond the hunter’s naked shoulder. “You seem pretty capable. I figured you could always get yourself another hide and well… I don’t really have one? It gets cold at night. I didn’t think you’d miss it that bad.”

The hunter now looked mildly distressed, bringing the pelt up to run his fingers over the fur and take a hesitant sniff, eyes flicking up to Stiles’. “You didn’t… want something for it?”

Stiles gaped, his gut sinking so fast that it was more of a painful wrench than anything. "No, god no. what? No. Oh Gods, did I rape you? Was that rape? I returned the favor, yeah, but was that rape?" The last thing Stiles wanted was to be considered as low as some of the more barbaric men of their village, the ones who Stiles’ father kept a close eye on because it was questionable as to whether their husbands or wives really were there of their free will.

Hesitating, the hunter made a pained face, like it was difficult for him to admit what he was about to say. "I could have killed you for it, if I didn't want to get it back the way I did. I didn’t mind... you're not ugly."

Taken aback, Stiles felt his jaw drop open just the tiniest bit more. Was he supposed to be offended by that? Or flattered? Stiles had no idea. He was relieved, though, to know that it had been completely consensual. “I don’t know how to feel about that,“ he did admit, just because it’s kind of sad to get your first sexual experience with a rogue hunter who admits to doing it only because you ‘aren’t ugly’.

That’s when the man snorted and lifted the pelt up and onto his back. Stiles watched in detached fascination as it slowly covered his skin. That’s when something unusual happened. The fur began to stretch and the hunter shifted, crouching down as his body started to transform into the shape of the very wolf that the pelt had belonged to. Realization struck Stiles and he had to stumble back against a tree for support. He wasn’t a hunter, he was a faolfir, a wolf shifter. Stiles had taken his pelt and prevented him from returning to his pack because he was trapped as a human without it. All of it made so much sense that it was nearly painful.

Stiles knew the legends, of shifters who lost their pelts to humans and were forced to do things in order to get them back. Some men took the faolfir as husbands or wives, or exchanged for sexual favors. Knowing this, the fact that this one had been unwilling to kill Stiles for his pelt was barely fathomable.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles blurted once the faolfir had completed his shift. “Oh Gods, forgive me. I thought it was just a pelt, I didn’t realize it was _your_ pelt. I was told you’d all died out hundreds of years ago.” Stiles gestured wildly, guilt so heavy in his heart that it was difficult to breathe. 

The wolf cocked his head, shuffling forward and then nipping at Stiles’ finger, almost in a fond reprimand, before bounding off into the woods. Most likely never to be seen again.

[x]

“So what, did you just like, realize you’re not going to be in the ceremony? Dude, are you accepting defeat?” Scott fiddled with the large pebble in his hand, watching as Stiles threw his over the water, the stone bouncing four times before plunking beneath the surface.

“No,” Stiles said petulantly, giving Scott an irritated look and then reaching for another stone. 

“Then why are you all quiet? Dude, you’ve been acting weird all week.”

“It’s nothing.” Stiles said, shrugging once and tossing the rock. It shot askew, hitting the water once and then sinking below with a plop. He didn’t particularly feel like telling Scott about running into a faolfir. It was rare enough to hear tales of selkies, the faolfir's ocean counterparts, but Scott would likely laugh himself to death if Stiles tried to relay the story of coming across a creature of legend.

“Right,” Scott said skeptically. Stiles lifted his head to point out something involving Allison being the cause of Scott’s perception skills going down when a flash of black caught the corner of his eye. His eyes snapped to the forest on the other side of the river, locking on the shape of a large black wolf that was watching them.

It wasn’t just a wolf, it was _the wolf_. 

Stiles set down the stone he’d been prepared to throw, pushing himself to his feet. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, it wasn’t like he could run across the river; it was too deep in the middle and the current too strong.

“Stiles?” Scott glanced to the woods. “Is that a wolf?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said faintly, unable to tear his gaze from where he was trapped by the red eyes staring right back at him. “I think so.”

The wolf broke contact, head dropping as it trotted back into the woods.

Stiles slowly sat down again, his heart sinking. Scott made a disinterested sound in the back of his throat, grabbing a stone and chucking it. “So Allison and I are thinking about a spring wedding…”

As Scott went on to ramble about his upcoming marriage, Stiles mulled over what had just occurred. The faolfir had come back. That had to mean something. Perhaps Stiles could try to offer a hand of friendship? Stiles just wanted to see him again. He felt attached already, even though what they were practically strangers.

After they packed up and headed back to the village, Stiles set out for Deaton’s hut. He spent a good hour there, grilling the old shaman on hundreds of theories and questions about the selkie and faolfir. Anything Deaton might know, Stiles wanted to hear. By the time Stiles left, his head was filled with story after story of legends that had been passed down from the forefathers. It made Stiles’ head spin, but it was just what he needed to make up his mind on what to do.

The next day, he snitched some of the better cuts of meat from where his father had them salted and stored for their supper. Tucking them into his satchel, Stiles made sure to also swipe one of his favorite stones out of the small collection next to his bedroll. Every now and then he and Scott would find rocks that looked like gems, keeping them in case one of the village girls was willing to barter for some to make jewelry and charms with. 

Stiles headed out to the lake that he had taken the pelt from only a handful of days prior. Searching for the right rock took a second, but Stiles found a nice one that was secluded enough that hawks wouldn’t see it from far off. He wrapped the meat and gemstone in a bit of leather, setting it down for the faolfir to see if he were to come to the river to bathe again. It was nearly the same time of day, so hopefully Stiles’ plan didn’t fall through.

[x]

The next morning, Stiles stepped out of the hut to see a mottled brown rabbit pelt sitting at the entrance. He froze mid-stretch, awkwardly and slowly lowering his arms as he glanced around. Nobody was up yet, it was still so early that dew was clinging to the thatch roofs and there was a light fog drifting in with the grey of pre-dawn light. Stiles crouched down, picking up the fur and running his palm over it. It was soft, perfectly treated, and must have come from one of the big fat hares that usually roamed the mountainside. It would make a great set of gloves for the winter. 

Stiles felt a swell of giddiness in his gut, his heart beating so heart he thought his chest might burst. This must have meant the faolfir wasn’t angry at him, right?

He hurried inside, first putting the rabbit fur under his bedroll and then fumbling around to find the leather strips he’d been saving to make a necklace for Lydia with. His father grumbled from his bed on the other end of the hut, rolling over with a tired snuffle--used to Stiles’ odd antics during the late and early hours of the day.

Stiles spent the next few hours threading gems into the leather until he had a thick band that could be tied around the wrist. Each gem was a different hue of reds and teals, the two different shades that Stiles had seen in the faolfir’s eyes--as a wolf, and as a human. His father had seemed slightly concerned, but he hadn’t asked Stiles what had his son so obsessively working on a project thought to be abandoned months ago.

When he was done, Stiles hurried into his tunic and trousers, stumbling to get his leather boots on before he was out the door and jogging for the river. 

Stiles set the bracelet down on the same rock as before, dusting a few leaves over it to hide the gems from hawks and squirrels. He left just as quickly as he’d come, almost certain that the faolfir wouldn’t show if Stiles was there. 

The following morning, there was a brown fox skin on their doorstep.

It went on for the remainder of the week. Stiles spent hours whittling down a wood carving, using the forge to make a dagger, and even staying up an entire night sewing a set of trousers that he hoped would fit the faolfir when in human flesh. He made sure to accompany all of it with things like berries, a fish, even a honey comb that had gotten Stiles stung in a few unpleasant places.

In return, Stiles found himself in the possession of a buckskin, two pheasants, and a set of boar tusks. The most surprising was the set of teeth from what Stiles was pretty sure belonged to one of the mountain lions that liked to prowl about on occasion.

He wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant, but he hoped that the faolfir wasn’t just returning the favor or acknowledging Stiles’ gifts in his own way. It was on the seventh morning that Stiles awoke the day after he’d left a leather belt out to go with the trousers that he found a hunting bow on their doorstep.

“When are you going to tell me who it is?” 

Stiles’ head snapped up, turning to see his father sleepily watching as Stiles lifted the birch bow from the ground. Stiles fumbled with it, but didn’t drop it. “Wh-what?”

“Whoever you’re courting? Or is it a secret?”

Struggling to figure out what to say, Stiles released a series of half-worded noises and squeaks, looking between his father and the bow before he shrugged helplessly. “Just some guy,” he blurted with a weak smile.

“Just some guy,” his father echoed dubiously. Stiles played with the edge of the bow, turning down the corners of his lips and bunching his shoulders up in the universal sign for ‘I have no idea’. His father snorted, rolling his eyes and setting his head back down. 

“As long as it isn’t Scott. I have enough trouble feeding just _you_ ,” he mumbled, rolling over. Stiles felt somewhat put-out that his father hadn’t pried, but realized he was most likely giving Stiles space until the ceremony at the end of autumn. 

Stiles looked down at the bow, grinning to himself before he ran to his bedroll to throw on some clothes and grab his quiver. He usually borrowed one of Allison’s spare bows or used his mother’s old bow, but his mother’s was so close to breaking that he’d stopped using it for fear of losing one of the few things of hers he had left. To have his own bow, that was something exhilarating. Stiles could practice at any time of day without having to head over to the Argent hut to ask to use one of Allison’s.

As soon as he was dressed, Stiles headed out of the village. He fully intended to bring home a buck by the end of the day, to prove to his father that he was a worthwhile son. 

[x]

Stiles was halfway to stringing up an arrow to take aim at a doe that he’d managed to stay downwind of when he saw the wolf. He put the arrow down, a grin breaking across his face at sight of it half hidden behind a cluster of trees. 

Bringing his hand up, Stiles waved and gestured for the wolf to come closer. At first, nothing happened, and Stiles wondered if he’d have to bust out the pheasant breast he had sitting in his hip pouch when the wolf started to trot closer. 

That’s also when Stiles realized that the graying coat, the smaller stature, and the shorter fur meant that this wolf wasn’t his faolfir. 

“Oh,” Stiles said weakly when the wolf continued to advance, “you’re not who I thought you were.” Stiles stood there awkwardly as the wolf started to snuffle at the hip pouch, nosing at it like he wanted the meat within. Stiles brought his bow up, pressing it into the animal’s side in an attempt to push it away. The pheasant breast was for his faolfir, it was supposed to be a thank-you for the bow until Stiles could find the materials he needed to make the necklace he had in mind. 

“Hey, that’s not for you,” Stiles said nervously, pushing harder when the wolf refused to budge. It snapped at his hand, teeth grazing the side of Stiles’ wrist and making him jump. Stiles yelped, jerking his hand back and then swatting the wolf on the nose before he could think about what he was doing. 

Gods, he didn’t even have a dagger on him. What was he thinking?!

The wolf snarled, teeth gnashing like it actually wanted to bite Stiles’ hand off this time. Stiles stumbled back, tripping over himself and hitting the ground with a painful thud. He didn’t even have a chance to scramble away before the wolf was nosing at his hip again, sniffing the fur gloves Stiles had made from the rabbit hide he’d been given. A growl punched out of the wolf’s chest, teeth clamping onto the gloves and tugging. 

Panic hit Stiles hard. He didn’t want to lose those gloves. They’d been a gift from his faolfir. He’d spent hours stitching them together just to keep them at all times. Stiles brought his bow up, thwacking the wolf across the head with it with a shout of, “No!” like he could stop the creature from tearing the gloves up.

The wolf barked, muffled around the gloves, and tugged again. Stiles reared his bow back to hit him a second time when he caught sight of another wolf bounding out of the woods. One that Stiles recognized.

It was at that moment that the wolf pulling at his gloves shifted, going from a canine to a half-naked man with the wolf pelt wrapped around his chest and hips. He was older, face placid and eyes unsettlingly soft. Stiles froze, nearly suffering a heart attack when he was shoved on his back with the stranger’s palm against his chest. 

“Wow,” Stiles choked out, “This just got super awkward.”

The man stared down at him, lips pursed and eyes focused into a calculating stare. He looked up to Stiles’ faolfir, releasing a disappointed scoff. “A human? Really?”

In the blink of an eye, the huge black wolf became a tall man with dark hair and a wolfskin tunic. Stiles maybe felt his heart skip a little bit at the sight, chest aching with the tiniest of longing. His faolfir looked angry, eyes darting from Stiles to the man pushing Stiles down to the ground. Stiles wasn’t really sure how relieved he should feel, given that he had absolutely no idea what was going on.

The man trapping Stiles reached for Stiles’ wrist, lifting it up with a grip that bordered on painful. “Humans are weak,” he said quietly to Stiles’ faolfir, “I could snap his bones in a second and it would take him weeks to heal."

"Please don't snap my bones, sir." Stiles interjected, because he really was rather fond of all of his bones staying intact.

"Shut up." Faolfir cut in, advancing on them both with a determined rigidity to his shoulders. 

"Well you're not the one who is about to have his bones broken, uhh--" that was when Stiles realized he’d never even asked his faolfir for a name. Stiles had always thought of him as just that, faolfir. He had a feeling that expressing his lack of knowledge wouldn’t go over too well with the man still holding his wrist hostage. Stiles had a feeling they knew each other rather well.

The older man drew his upper lip back in a sneer, exposing a set of shiny and wet fangs to the both of them. “I could turn him,” he offered, dragging Stiles’ wrist close to his mouth. Stiles struggled to pull away, but it was like this man’s strength was unmatchable. “After all, you wouldn’t want this shame the family, would you?”

Faolfir stepped closer, fingers curled into fists as he snarled and barked out, "get off of him."

Tutting, the man hovering over Stiles frowned and shook his head. He lowered Stiles‘ wrist, but didn‘t release it. "Derek, I'm trying to help you as your uncle.” So Stiles’ faolfir had a name--Derek. It was a fitting name, it went well with his dark stare and sharp posture. Derek’s uncle looked at Stiles, sighing mournfully. “Turning this human would look much better than whatever you were thinking. Don't think I haven't seen those jewels and knicknacks you keep filling your den with."

Stiles couldn’t help it, he started grinning like a loon. He was sure the beam on his face was brighter than a torch light as he looked to Derek. “You kept them all?” Oh, Stiles had hoped, but just to hear it was probably the greatest thing he could think of.

Derek’s uncle focused in on Stiles. "You want to be a wolf, don't you?"

"Uhm. not really." Stiles said, trying to pull his arm back again because he really did not feel safe around this guy. How did someone even get turned, anyway? It didn’t seem pleasant, and Stiles really did like his village and his dad, and listening to Scott moon over Allison. Yeah, he’d stick with being human.

It seemed as though Derek’s uncle wasn’t entirely pleased with that answer because he still went in for the bite. Stiles wrenched his hand free at the same time Derek shifted with a barking growl and lunged forward. Stiles shrieked when the body above him was suddenly tackled off in a blur of flesh and limbs. He heard snarling, caught a glimpse of Derek’s uncle shifting as well before the two were snapping and clawing at the other. 

Stiles scrambled for his bow, watching Derek bite at his uncle’s throat forcefully, but not a killing blow. The other wolf yelped, going limp after a second and allowing Derek to pull away. Stiles had absolutely no idea what was transpiring, but after another angry yip and bite from Derek, the older wolf was on his feet and trotting back towards the forest with his tail swinging low. 

Derek didn’t turn around again until his uncle was out of sight. When he did, it was to trot back to Stiles with determination. Stiles fumbled for his satchel, grabbing the pheasant’s breast. 

“Well, I guess since you saved my humanity, I owe you this,” Stiles began, turning to hold it out when Derek was suddenly human again and reaching for Stiles to drag him into a kiss. Stiles felt his heart leap into his throat, meat slipping from his hands and to the ground as he clutched at Derek’s arms. His mouth parted, a groan escaping when teeth nibbled his upper lip. Stiles’ entire body felt on fire, like all of the gifts and buildup in the past two weeks made all of it that much more intense.

Derek’s hands curled around the back of Stiles’ head, tongue licking at the corners of Stiles’ mouth, chasing the taste of his whimpers. It took all of Stiles’ will to bring his hands to Derek’s chest and push lightly, just enough so that they parted, noses brushing and foreheads bumping. “I don’t have your pelt this time, you know,” he said breathlessly. Derek’s eyes searched his own, lips pursing the tiniest bit in hesitance.

“You were courting me,” he said quietly, and relief hit Stiles like a ton of bricks. He’d had absolutely no idea if the things Deaton had told him were true or not. Derek could have thought they were just playing a game of ‘who can give the best presents’ for all Stiles knew.

“I was,” Stiles agreed, rubbing his nose against Derek’s before he could stop himself. “I just wasn’t sure if you knew that.” 

Derek leaned in to kiss him again and Stiles jerked back with wide eyes. “Does this mean you accept? Is that what you meant with the bow and everything else? You accept?” As Stiles spoke, Derek leaned in to press his mouth to Stiles’ throat, one hand sliding to the human’s back to pull him in tight. “So all the stuff you brought back was you accepting? Did you like the dagger? It took me hours to make. What about the trousers? Did they fit? Or did you need the belt?”

Stiles’ heart thundered in his chest, stomach fluttering as Derek sucked on his neck, nibbling an, “mhmmm,” noise into it as his hands started to rub over every expanse of Stiles’ body. Derek’s pelt tunic was riding up the closer he got, the fur sliding higher and higher until Stiles could feel the bump of a hardening cock pressing into his thigh. That’s when another thought struck Stiles.

“You know, could you put those pants on, actually? I don’t know how my dad is going to feel when I show him my betrothed and you’re not even wearing pants.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Mostly.” Stiles paused, tugging on Derek’s hand and then making a face. “I’m pretty sure.”

Derek hesitated, but allowed Stiles to continue dragging him towards the village, his eyebrows going lower and lower with concern. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

Shooting Derek a wry grin, Stiles lead them both past the crops that circled the outer edges of Beacon Village, waving to a few stunned-looking villagers and guiding Derek towards his hut. Lydia was out by Jackson’s hut, leaning against the frame and talking to him while toying with her hair when Stiles and Derek passed. Stiles almost gave into the urge to puff his chest out in pride at the way she trailed off in the middle of her words to gape at Derek. 

Derek, who hadn’t gotten any pants, and so the wrap of his wolf pelt barely came down low enough on his thighs to cover much at all. Stiles should probably do something about that, but he kind of liked showing off a little bit. 

“Stiles,” Derek grunted, fingers curling tighter around Stiles’ own. “Everyone is staring.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles scoffed, wiggling his eyebrows at Derek as they drew near to his hut. “You’re kind of unrealistically sexy.”

It was going to be ingrained into Stiles’ memory for all of eternity the way the tips of Derek’s ears flushed pink at the same time he frowned like the idea actually irritated him. A swell of giddiness rose up in Stiles, and he wanted to say more when he realized that his father was standing in the doorway of their home, arms crossed and a look on his face like he didn’t know whether to be upset or impressed.

“Hello, beloved father,” Stiles stumbled to a halt so fast that Derek bumped into his back. He held tight to the fingers twined within his own, mostly to make sure Derek didn’t bolt at the first sign of confrontation. Stiles had never really seen Derek interact with anyone other than his uncle or Stiles. He didn’t know how well Derek dealt with strangers.

“Stiles.” Dad began, eyes flitting to Derek and then down to Derek’s rather…minimalist approach at clothing. “Who’s this?”

“This,” Stiles gestured behind himself and then stepped to the side to give his father a better view, “This is Derek.”

Derek looked like a deer caught grazing by a hunter. His eyes were wide and his lips slowly pursed into a thin line. He gradually straightened himself, chest broadening as his shoulders were set back. He was displaying dominance. Kind of sexy, but not the right time.

“And what exactly is a Derek?”

“My fiancé!” Stiles crowed proudly, bringing up where he and Derek were still holding hands and waving their arms back and forth. Stiles’ father made a pained noise, giving Derek another once-over and looking at Stiles.

“What did you blackmail him with to get him to agree?”

Stiles made a wounded noise, bringing his free hand to his chest with a dismayed sound of, “Father!”

The frown on his father’s face grew deeper, brows pinched in concern. “What else am I supposed to expect? He doesn’t look like he’s from any of the other villages. He’s also very… unlike you.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, but his dad did have a point. Derek was a bit more… rugged… than the usual type of spouse he would have gone for. Derek stepped forward, bringing his arm out for Stiles’ father to clasp at the elbow in a shake. “My family is not from here,” Derek explained. Stiles jumped on that explanation in a heartbeat, letting go of Derek’s hand to gesticulate wildly.

“They’re nomads, dad. See, there was this issue where I stole something of his and then he wanted it back but he didn’t want to kill me and then stuff happened and so it got resolved. Now we’re courting.”

His father looked a little lost, even more so when Derek nodded seriously like Stiles was telling nothing but the truth. “You stole something from him, but it was okay, and… now you’re courting,” he echoed.

“Yep!”

Another series of expressions came across his father’s face, but it seemed like the eager way his son was watching him made it difficult for the chief to argue. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and gesturing to the two of them. “I won’t agree to a marriage this early on,” when Stiles’ face fell, he was quick to continue, “so I expect you to keep courting until at least the winter solstice. People can grow tired of one another.”

Stiles’ expression took on an uneasy look and he glanced over to Derek, like he was waiting for the rejection. Derek, however, schooled his face into a serious expression and nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Stiles’ father gave Derek a long and calculating stare before he slowly said, “How do you expect this to work out if your family travels with the herd?”

Derek cleared his throat, just the tiniest bit, and ducked his head. “We’ve settled for the winter. By the time the snow melts, Stiles and I will have made the decision as to which of us will leave their family. I hope to learn about your home, just as I wish to have Stiles learn of mine.”

Gaping at Derek, Stiles couldn’t help the doofy grin that spread across his face. It was probably the most he’d ever really heard Derek say, and whether or not it was all entirely true didn’t matter because Derek was making an attempt for Stiles. He was making an attempt without having his pelt unknowingly held hostage. That had to count for something, right?

His father crossed his arms, frowning at the both of them like he wasn’t sure whether to believe everything he was being told or just laugh in their faces. “Regardless, Stiles isn’t an adult yet. I expect you to wait another year to marry if he doesn’t pass this year.”

Stiles wanted to slap his forehead, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten entirely about bringing home a hunt. He’d been so caught up in everything that it had slipped his mind. It was almost embarrassing, given how adamant he’d been just weeks before about catching at least a doe or a fox. The bigger the game he brought in, the more likely the elders were to consider him no longer a boy.

“He’ll pass,” Derek assured, and grabbed Stiles’ hand, “I’ll make sure of it.”

[x]

“Why a bow?” 

Stiles paused from where he was trying to sharpen one of his wooden arrows, almost dropping his carving knife at the intense look on Derek’s face. He shrugged, dragging the blade along the arrow’s shaft until the tip was as pointed as it could possibly be. “Everyone uses them,” he explained, “it’s pretty much the best way to catch anything.”

Derek stood from where he’d been sitting against the tree across from Stiles. He crouched, plucking the arrow from Stiles’ hands. Stiles almost jumped out of his skin, heart hiccupping in his chest for just a split second when Derek traced the calluses on his palms, turning them over to inspect the knuckles. It was strangely intimate, even for them, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from cracking a weak joke to try and break up the tension he could feel growing between them. 

“Yeah, human hands are really different from paws. I mean, I bet you don’t even know how to make a basket with those fingers of yours.” he teased, looking up so quickly that his nose brushed Derek’s chin. Derek snorted quietly under his breath, interlacing their fingers together and squeezing them.

“You have the hands of a fisherman,” he told Stiles. Stiles wasn’t really sure what to say to that, given that he’d never really had anyone analyze the type of ‘fingers’ he had. They weren’t much of a fishing village. Sure, there was a river not too far off, but the land was rich with different types of plants and animals. It was enough that they didn’t have to require on the river as a source of survival. Stiles preferred it that way. He didn’t particularly feel like duking it out with any bears for a couple of salmon, anyway.

“Okay, well… I don’t think bringing home a bunch of fish is really going to get me into the ceremony this year,” Stiles pointed out, just in case Derek didn’t really understand the concept of what exactly the purpose of ‘adulthood’ was. It was putting one’s life in danger. Sure, a doe could get you in just barely, but it was because deer could be fucking scary if you pissed them off. 

Jackson had caught one of the bobcats out by the mountains and he’d spent weeks after the ceremony turning down suitors left and right. That was what Stiles wanted. He wanted the villagers to be running after _him_ ; even if he had Derek now. It was the concept of being wanted by a village that had always overlooked him. That was what Stiles really desired.

“Fishermen make nets.” Derek said with a twitch of a grin. He frowned it away with a furrow of brows, bringing up Stiles’ hands between them. “You made this,” Derek shook their hands, the band on his wrist shifting. It was the band Stiles had made him, one of the first gifts exchanged between them, still interlaced with the various rock gems the color of Derek’s human and wolf eyes. “If you can make this, you can make a net.”

Stiles had… never really thought about making a net. Most of the fishermen used spears, because the river had far too many rocks and moved too fast for nets to really be utilized. Even then, Stiles had a feeling that nets weren’t that different from all of the jewelry that he made in his free time to sell and barter with some of the women.

“So, what? I should make traps?”

Derek leveled Stiles with a look that could only be interpreted as, ‘of course. I know you’re not that much of an idiot that you can’t figure it out on your own.’

It helped that Stiles was getting better with interpreting which movement of Derek’s eyebrows meant what. He grinned, pulling Derek’s hand close and kissing where their fingers crossed together. Sure, they still had a lot to learn about one another, but knowing that he could do things like kiss Derek when he wanted, well…Stiles would milk that for all it was worth.

Teaching Stiles how to make a net seemed to be one of the many things that Derek was entirely capable of doing. Once Derek set his mind to it, he really could do almost anything. Apparently there’d been a period of time where Derek’s pack had gone in and out of other villages, posing as humans, in order to barter and get the things they needed to survive after particularly dry summers or harsh winters.

Stiles would have never known that from his first few interactions with Derek, but once a few weeks had passed, Derek had easily acclimated to visiting Stiles’ village without standing out more than he already did. (Stiles knew for a fact that he only stood out because he happened to be the most attractive man on this side of the mountain. Stiles particularly enjoyed being the object of envy, for once.) 

The first few attempts at a net weren’t particularly successful, mostly because Stiles was still stuck on making knots for jewelry, not ones meant to catch and trap animals. By the time he got the hang of it, the sun was already starting to set and he was getting desperate to catch at least _something_. 

On his fifth try, he and Derek set the trap and made a trip out to the river to bathe off the dirt and grime of the day. Hopefully, they would return to find at least a fox or some other creature ensnared. Stiles had a good month to try and make it into the ceremony, but the sooner he was able to guarantee himself a spot, the better. 

Somehow, bathing turned into splashing, which became an impromptu wrestling match that had Stiles trying to at least knock Derek back into the water. He should have known it was impossible, what with Derek’s unnatural strength and abs that were harder than the trunk of a tree. He was able to get his hands around Derek’s stomach before he was lifted up and tossed a few feet away like he was merely a sack of hen’s eggs. 

“Cheat!” Stiles cried when he surfaced, wiping water from his face and giving Derek a dirty look. Derek, on the other hand, looked rather smug that Stiles hadn’t even been able to budge him. Stiles growled, diving under the water and kicking his way downstream to where Derek was. He didn’t even get to try a sneak attack before a pair of strong hands were diving into the water and grasping at his arms, hauling him up. Stiles spluttered, gasping for air in surprise.

“Caught you,” Derek said smarmily. Stiles had a retort on his tongue, but it promptly fell straight from his brain and out his ears when he locked eyes with Derek and his body decided to take drastic note of their proximity, and of the way their chests brushed with every inhale. Derek’s nostrils flared, his pupils going wide from one breath to the next. He bent in, nosing at Stiles’ jaw, tongue darting out to lap up beads of water trailing down his throat. Stiles’ heart thundered against his ribcage, his lungs forgetting how to breathe as Derek released a snuffling nose and kissed his earlobe.

That’s when he remembered why they were in the river in the first place. He shuddered, forcing himself to pull away before he did something ridiculous like try to climb Derek’s body, and pressed a hand against the other man’s chest. “Do you think something might have gotten caught in the net by now?”

Derek paused, glancing up at the sky and where the sun had already dipped beyond the horizon. Most of the river was lit with the moonlight by now, a silver glow on the water that illuminated the color of Derek’s eyes and the paleness of his skin. “Maybe. We can go take a look.”

Stiles grinned, patting Derek on his nice, muscular chest. “I like your thinking.” 

Rolling his eyes, Derek reached down to flick a handful of water up at Stiles before he waded his way back to shore. Stiles waited a second to follow, mostly because he wanted to admire the view. Derek’s back flexed with each step he took, the muscles twitching with his movement and guiding Stiles’ focus down to Derek’s ass and thighs. 

Oh yeah, Stiles was totally glad he’d decided to court that. 

Derek glanced over his shoulder, apparently catching on to the fact that he was being watched, and gave a very obvious upward drag of his eyes before locking on Stiles’ face. “Coming?”

Stiles scrambled over himself to get out of the water, tripping over a rock and falling face first into the river. He came up sputtering, hearing Derek’s laughter from the shore, and shamefully shuffled the rest of the way out of the water. Derek was there with his trousers in one hand, and an amused twitch on his mouth that might have been a grin. 

Snagging his trousers out of Derek’s hand, Stiles elbowed the other man out of the way, walking and pulling them on at the same time. “Laugh it up, big guy. Just wait until you see what I caught in my net. You’ll be seething with jealousy.”

“Of course I will,” Derek said dryly, retrieving his pelt from where it had been stashed beneath a cluster of leaves. He shook it off, slinging it around his hips and over his chest. Stiles was pretty sure there was some sort of technique in which the pelt could be worn a little less revealingly, but he had a feeling Derek liked to flaunt his human form off just the tiniest bit. 

Either that or the pelt chafed or something.

They got the rest of their things and made their way back through the forest to where Stiles’ trap had been set just before sundown. Before they even got there, Derek was freezing in place and throwing a hand out to stop Stiles from moving. He was absolutely still, head lifting to sniff the air before an odd expression flickered across his face. He dropped his hand, gesturing for Stiles to keep moving forward. 

Not wanting to question Derek’s odd behavior (mostly because Derek did a lot of weird things), Stiles headed down to the valley. That’s when he heard the bleating, and saw the large, dark animal trapped in his net.

“Is that--” Stiles didn’t even finish his sentence before he bolted towards his trap, a loud whoop escaping him at the sight of a large and very frustrated buck trapped in the net. It looked angry, a mean one that would have probably tried to spear Stiles with it’s antlers if he had attempted to shoot it with any arrows. 

Stiles knew he should probably put it out of it’s misery, but he was far too excited to really think about that. Instead, he whirled around and grinned like a madman at Derek. “It’s huge!” he cried. Derek laughed, and Stiles couldn’t even control himself. He lunged at Derek, jumping up and thanking the Gods when Derek caught him without a second thought. He didn’t even stumble, holding Stiles in his arms and releasing a noise of pleasant surprise when Stiles grabbed his face and kissed him. 

“I caught it,” Stiles gasped out between kisses, peppering his lips against Derek’s mouth, cheeks, and even his forehead. He was pretty sure his heart was going to explode from excitement and joy alone. “I did it, I did it!” Stiles pressed his mouth to Derek’s again, laughing and clacking their teeth together as a result. 

Derek wrapped one arm around Stiles’ bottom, holding him tight while his other hand came up to cup Stiles’ jaw, coaxing him into easing out of his frantic kisses and into something calmer, more languid. 

With his ankles hooked around Derek’s back, Stiles easily followed his lead. He gasped into the kiss, chuckling just the tiniest bit because he was still fit to burst with excitement, and letting Derek carry him until Stiles’ back was pressed up against the nearest tree. 

They kissed for only a few minutes longer before the buck in the next started wriggling around, releasing another enraged noise that startled the both of them into breaking apart. Stiles, lips swollen and his ears and neck flushed, stared at the creature. “I guess I should bring him in. Dad’s gonna love it.”

Derek lowered Stiles to the ground, using his thumb to swipe a bit of saliva from his lower lip and then gesturing to the buck. “Do you want to use a knife?”

Stiles shook himself, inhaling and then letting out a heavy breath before nodding. “Yeah, gotta get used to this kind of stuff anyway.”

That being said, he retrieved his knife from his satchel, approaching the buck that was still writhing around inside of the net. He closed his eyes, uttering a prayer of thanks before taking the creature’s life in a swift jerk of the blade. Another prayer, just to be sure, and Stiles cut the wire holding the net up so that the buck’s body fell to the ground in a heap.

Derek came up behind him, one heavy hand pressing into Stiles’ upper back. He rubbed once, and then the both of them went about prepping the buck to be toted back to the village.

[x]

“Do you think your pack will like me?” Stiles asked, using his arm to wipe sweat from his brow. Derek hesitated from where he was gathering corn into the basket on his hip, lips thinning and jaw tensing. Stiles didn’t move, still in the midst of dragging a few cobs from the stalk. The harvest had come in late that year, and so the entire village was happily out in the fields now that the crops were ready and food would no longer be in shortage like it had been for the past few weeks. Derek, much to Stiles and everyone else’s surprise, had easily volunteered to help.

It was probably the most blissful autumn that Stiles had ever gone through. In the mornings, he and Derek would check the nets, bringing in fish and various types of game that had Stiles’ father nearly tearing up in pride. During the early afternoon and into the late day, they would work on the crops before taking a trip out to the river once the day’s work was done. A week into their routine, Derek had shown Stiles a small alcove just behind the waterfall. It quickly became the place that they often enjoyed a few private moments of kissing behind when Scott and some of the others would join them at the river.

However, Stiles had yet to meet Derek’s pack, while Derek had adjusted almost flawlessly into Stiles’ village and had come familiar with almost everyone. 

“I don’t know,” Derek said honestly, fiddling with the corn in his hands. “I’ve never… brought anyone to my home before,” he confessed with a shrug. Stiles wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but he had no idea how to ask for an explanation.

Stripping the stalk in his hands and tucking the cobs into his basket, Stiles bobbed his shoulders. “Would you bring me?” he ventured hesitantly, chest seizing in anxiety.

Derek licked sweat from his upper lip, avoiding Stiles’ eyes. “If you’re the one.”

“The one?”

With his basket now full, Derek approached Stiles to help him, grabbing a stalk and wrenching the ears of corn from it to toss into Stiles’ basket. “The one I want for good.”

Stiles, momentarily, forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to even hold onto the corn in his hands, and it slipped to the earth with a soft thud. His head snapped to face Derek, throat bobbing in an attempt to at least swallow down the hundreds of questions that wanted to burst from his mouth. Derek looked troubled, mouth pursed and eyebrows pinched together, like he wanted to make a decision then and there but something was holding him back. Stiles bent down to pick up the fallen ear of corn, standing and saying, quietly, “You’re the one I want for good.”

It was like someone had stuck Derek with lightning, his entire body going rigid before he whipped his head around to stare at Stiles with wide and shocked eyes. Stiles shrugged, fiddling with the ear of corn in his hands. “You’re the only one who…who has ever acted like you wanted to be with me,” he muttered. “It’s… I don’t ever want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” Derek blurted, reaching out and taking the cob out of Stiles’ grasp, dropping it into his basket. “You won’t.”

“But--” Stiles tried to protest, except he found himself forgetting how to speak when Derek reached out and clutched his face, looking distressed. 

“I will always want you,” Derek said vehemently, “I just…”

Stiles grinned timidly, giving a weak laugh. “Don’t know if your family will be okay with it? I’m just a human, I can’t pretend to be one of your kind like you can with mine.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” Derek barked, jaw twitching with frustration. “I just need time,” was what he finally said, voice on the edge of pleading, like he was begging Stiles to give him just a little longer to make up his mind. Stiles wanted to scoff, because it wasn’t as if he would really give Derek up that easily.

Forcing himself to smile, Stiles reached up to pat the hand encompassing his cheek reassuringly. “Sure. I don’t really have anything better to do, anyway.”

Derek exhaled in relief, leaning in and pressing their lips together. Usually they tried to avoid too much affection around the other villagers, mostly because Stiles wanted to avoid word getting back to his father, but times like this it didn’t really matter who saw. 

Two weeks later, as the first frost of winter began to set in, Derek came to Stiles with an anxious tension in his shoulders. There was a tiny, nervous frown on his lips as he said, “I want you to meet my pack.”


	3. Chapter 3

[x]

Derek’s pack, it turned out, was nearly half the size of what Stiles had anticipated. 

There was Derek’s alpha and sister, Laura, and his uncle, Peter. Other than those two, the rest of his family had been killed off by hunters that had come through the land a few years back. Then there were three younger ones, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, who had been pups when their parents had all been hunted just like the rest of Derek’s family.

Derek explained all of this as they made their way across the valley and towards the mountains where his den was. When they started to draw near, Derek tugged his pelt off, pulling it around his body and shifting into his wolf form. Stiles continued to follow, though, when Derek nuzzled at his hand with a cold and wet nose. They made their way across rocks and trees until they reached a small clearing with a series of caves carved into the side of the mountain.

Derek yipped, and he was instantly answered with the barks of a trio of wolves that came scrambling out of one of the dens. He rubbed flanks and nuzzled each of them, only stopping when the wolf with pale fur caught sight of Stiles and instantly tensed. Stiles visibly saw the hackles raise, a growl escaping it that went straight through to Stiles’ bones. 

Stiles backed up until he was pressed into a tree, watching two more wolves come out from the den as Derek frantically yipped and shoved at the smaller ones before finally taking a stance in front of Stiles. He shifted, human again in just a few seconds, and growled a second time.

The wolves looked startled, and then uneasy, before the two in the back exchanged looks and became a young woman and the man who Stiles recognized as Derek’s uncle.

“You brought him here,” Peter said with detached interest. “You actually are serious about him, huh?”

Derek nodded stiffly, and the woman reached out to pet between the ears of one of the young wolves who had mottled brown fur and dark eyes. “It’s good to finally meet him. I was starting to think you’d just leave us and be a human for the rest of your life,” she said lightly, attempting to joke. Stiles could tell with the way she held herself that there was more truth in her words than she was willing to admit. Stiles swallowed heavily, stepping up next to Derek.

“He wanted to make sure I was worth it,” he pointed out. Derek glanced down at him, looking a bit surprised, eyes flitting back to the younger wolves that still looked a pounce away from ripping his throat out. Yeah, Stiles was kind of afraid of being maimed, but at the same time he knew that Derek wouldn’t let any harm come to him.

“And are you?” Laura asked sharply. Derek opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles was talking before he could get a single word out. 

“I guess I am, since I’m here, aren’t I? Derek’s the only one who likes to put up with me, anyway.”

This seemed to startle the alpha, because her eyes went wide before she laughed loudly. The three young wolves looked at her and Peter had this expression like his niece had completely lost her mind. Stiles reached for Derek’s hand, startled when Derek clutched at his fingers.

“Stubborn one. I’m not surprised.” Laura said, inclining her head knowingly at Derek. Derek shrugged and Laura laughed again. Stiles suddenly felt like he was missing a huge part of the joke. 

The three pups finally shifted into their human forms, each looking equally wary, before they all surrounded Derek and Stiles, reaching out to touch them both. Stiles suddenly felt like some kind of new creature, because he could feel and hear them sniffing curiously at his skin, touching him and rubbing his head, where the hair was nearly shorn off entirely. He’d grown it in the past few weeks, wanting to keep his head warm for the winter, otherwise they wouldn’t have any hair to pull at all.

“He smells like Derek already,” the blonde girl said, crinkling her nose with a look of displeasure. Stiles assumed this one was Erica. He wasn’t sure how much he liked Erica just yet, because she pulled Stiles’ hair again, only this time it was more painful. “It doesn’t smell good.”

“I think he smells good,” said the paler of the two boys. Isaac, if Stiles’ memory of Derek’s description of him served correctly. “He smells like pack.”

Erica scoffed, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “He isn’t pack.”

Derek snarled, snapping at her and causing the girl to back off just the tiniest bit. Cowed, she shuffled a few feet away and crossed her arms with a frown. The other pup, who Stiles assumed to be Boyd, shifted and sniffed him again. “He could be pack.”

“I’m taking him to my den,” Derek growled irritably, snatching Stiles’ wrist and pulling him out of the circle of pups. “Whether or not you think he’s pack doesn’t matter. He’s mine, either way.”

“You were mine first,” Erica muttered under her breath, just as Derek and Stiles brushed past Laura. Stiles wanted to ask what she meant, her words resonating in his head, but Derek was already guiding him towards one of the caverns near the edge of the clearing. There was hanging lichen and palms across the entrance, concealing it mostly from prying eyes.

Derek guided Stiles into the den, and Stiles could tell with a single breath that it belonged only to Derek. It was like burying his face directly into Derek’s skin. The smell was strong, even mixed in with the scent of earth and the rock and moss that served as walls. It made Stiles’ heart ache with longing, even when Derek was right in front of him.

That’s when Stiles caught sight of the small pile next to the nest of fur and leaves that served as Derek’s bed. It was every single gift that Stiles had ever gotten him, from the dagger, to the trousers and wood carvings and various trinkets. Derek had even kept the leather strips Stiles had used to wrap some of the gifts in.

“I didn’t understand why you took my pelt, at first,” Derek said softly, guiding Stiles into sitting amongst the various furs that made up his nest. “I thought you wanted something from me.”

“I didn’t know--”

“I know that now,” Derek interrupted, pulling his knees up so he could rest his arms on them. “At the time, I didn’t.” his jaw flexed and his brows pinched together like he was trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. “When I traced it back to you, I couldn’t understand how someone like you could have done it, let alone could have wanted me that badly.”

“But--”

“I watched you, tried to find a reason not to kill you and take it back…I tried to understand _why_. I saw how you were with your father, and with your friends and the other villagers. I wanted that.” Derek lifted his head, eyes locking with Stiles and his head ducking forward just the tiniest bit. ”I wanted _you_.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide, shock hitting him hard in the gut. He could barely wrap his head around the idea that any of this had really been more than a series of impulsive actions. “Is that why you--”

“I could have killed you to get the pelt back… but I wanted to get it back the other way. I wanted to have you once before I went back to my pack. I could have killed you, or I could have stolen it back. I didn’t realize you had no idea it was mine. I thought--”

“You thought what you did was what I wanted, anyway.” Stiles supplied, realization dawning.

“Yeah,” Derek said awkwardly, “and then you were confused.”

“Really confused,” Stiles laughed, bumping his shoulder into Derek’s. Derek looked pained, though, before he shook his head.

“So… I got the pelt and I left…and then you gave me the bracelet.” Derek brought his arm up, fingers tracing the outline of the rock gems interlaced inside of the bracelet. “I...was glad. I had another chance.”

Stiles grinned so wide he was afraid his face might split. He reached out, tugging Derek’s hand close with a finger hooked in the bracelet. “Don’t get me wrong, the surprise blow job was great, but I had no idea what was going on. Kinda ruined the romance.”

Derek snorted, bumping their knuckles together. Stiles leaned in to rub his nose up against Derek’s throat. “I’m not a fan of one-offs, anyway. I’ve always been a relationship sort of guy…which was why I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try to get your attention a better way.” Stiles pressed his lips slowly to the hinge where Derek’s ear and jaw met. Derek made a tiny noise of contentment, turning and kissing Stiles properly. 

Bringing his hand up, Stiles pulled Derek into him, mouth parting just the tiniest bit to suck on Derek’s upper lip before kissing him again. Derek’s chest rumbled happily and Stiles gave into the urge to clamber onto his lap. 

He could feel the gasp against his mouth when it happened, the way Derek went from receptive to responsive in a split second. His fingers clutched at Stiles’ hips, dragging him in close and then rocking up. Stiles completely forgot how entirely useless Derek’s pelt was as anything other than bare coverage until Derek forced their bodies in close. He could feel the way Derek was reacting to him, the twitch of Derek’s cock pressing up between Stiles’ legs, rubbing against his trousers. Stiles groaned quietly, digging his fingers into the dark, thick hair at the base of Derek’s skull and rocking his hips. 

Derek nipped at Stiles’ mouth, mimicking the movements of his body with an encouraging, incoherent murmur. It wasn’t long before Derek was lifting Stiles, flipping him and pressing him down into the soft furs of his bed. Stiles’ entire body was on fire, his nerves sensitive to every touch and caress from Derek’s fingers. His legs fell from around Derek’s hips, knees spread wide and hips twitching up when Derek’s fingers fumbled at the lace of his trousers.

“Wait,” Stiles gasped into Derek’s mouth, even though he was already arching to let his trousers be tugged off with a quick wrench. “Wait, wait, Derek--Gods.”

Pulling away, Derek stared down at Stiles with a hungry, confused look. He pressed a hand to Stiles’ knee, thumb caressing the crease of his joint and frowning in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows, feeling exposed with the knowledge that Derek was officially more clothed than he was. He fiddled with the hem of his tunic, staring down at his naked legs and the way his tunic tented up where it barely covered his erection.

“We’re kind of missing something, like…I don’t know, do you happen to have any oils hiding around here?” 

Derek made a face, and then another, before he glanced around the small area of his den and then back at Stiles. “We don’t need oil,” he said lowly, reaching down to fist Stiles’ cock before Stiles could really think about what he said. A moan punched itself out of Stiles’ chest, rocking up into Derek’s fingers before his words actually registered in Stiles’ head.

“Wait--” Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrist when it went to pull up his tunic. “Oil or something, we totally need it. I am not--”

Derek kissed him, twisting his hand around to interlace their fingers. “I won’t take you yet,” he said quietly. “I promised your father to wait until after the ceremony.”

Oh.

Wait.

“You talked to my dad about sex?” Stiles cried, horror welling up rapidly. Derek huffed out a laugh, rubbing their noses together and stroking Stiles again, this time harder and with a firmer grip. Stiles’ brain did this funny thing where he forgot what he was going to say, and then he pulled away to give Derek a dirty look.

“Yes,” Derek confirmed, and then let go of Stiles’ hand and cock to pull his tunic up and over his head. Stiles’ arms flailed for a minute, everything going dark until the tunic was off and he could feel his skin prickling in the cool air of the den. “That doesn’t mean we can’t do other things, though,” Derek added, pressing his palms against Stiles’ torso and dragging them up, spreading his fingers wide and thumbing each of Stiles’ nipples at the same time.

Stiles hissed, arching with the tiniest of whimpers and scrambling at Derek’s shoulders. “What? Wait, what? What are we doing?” 

Derek kissed him, tongue swiping out to steal the words from his lips before he pressed down, body heavy and warm on top of Stiles’. Stiles grunted, wheezing on a pathetic moan when Derek gave a tentative thrust of his hips that had Stiles’ world tilting. This was going to be over miserably fast, considering Stiles had never done anything with another person outside of a few scant kisses and a few traded hand jobs between Derek and himself. Those were memories Stiles would always think of fondly, the both of them struggling to stay quiet, jerking each other off beneath layers of fur pelts while Stiles’ father slept only a mere handful of feet away.

Right now, however, they were alone inside of Derek’s small nest, bodies hot and slick as Derek continued to thrust up against him. Stiles clawed at Derek’s arms, dropping his head back the second that Derek latched his teeth onto the sensitive tendon in Stiles’ throat. He thrust down, teeth scraping at Stiles’ skin and breathing heavily with each movement.

Stiles kissed wetly at Derek‘s ear, nipping at the shell of it whenever Derek gave a particularly hard grind that had Stiles‘ cock twitching between their bodies. A tiny moan punched itself from Derek‘s chest and Stiles grabbed at his hips, pulling down at the same time he thrust up.. 

It wasn’t long before their movements devolved into a frantic, messy series of jerks and rocks. Stiles dug his nails into the fur pelts beneath him as his body burned and shook with the impending climax, and Derek snagged one of his hands to bring it up to his head. Stiles eagerly buried his fingers into Derek’s hair, dragging him into a kiss that muffled the groan that left Derek as he shuddered and dropped down to his elbows. Stiles keened, struggling for air and loving every second of it, rolling his hips desperately when he felt a burst of hot warmth against his stomach as Derek hit his climax with another soft moan. 

Stiles wasn’t far behind, not when Derek was whispering filthy things into his ear with each twitch of his body, begging Stiles, “come on, come on, Stiles. You’re so beautiful. Almost there, come on,” as Stiles gasped and shook before his orgasm washed over him and he trembled right through it. 

It took a little while for Stiles to come down from his high, panting heavily into Derek’s shoulder and then groaning, “get off me, you lump,” when Derek nuzzled his throat and ceased to roll off of him. Derek grumbled, nipping at Stiles’ jaw and then shifting to the side so that Stiles could breathe easier.

“So, that was awesome,” Stiles said airily, turning and pressing his lips to Derek for a tired kiss. Derek grunted, rubbing their mouths together and returning the kiss. He was always quiet after sex, preferring to show his affection through touch than voice. Stiles was getting used to it, just like he was getting used to every other thing about Derek.

Finally, they had to get up before they were stuck together. Derek helped Stiles to his feet, thumb flicking over the half-dried cum spattering all over Stiles’ chest and stomach and looking far too pleased with himself.

“Come on,” Derek said lowly, “the river is just on the other side of the mountain.”

Stiles’ gut clenched and his eyes went wide. “Wait, you expect me to walk by your family-- covered in-- with all this--”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles faintly remembered that he wasn’t exactly human. It was entirely likely that covering your betrothed in your …fluids… was a common occurrence.

“Why am I not surprised?” Stiles sighed, yelping when Derek started to drag him out towards the mouth of the cave. “Hey! Naked here!”

Derek looked at Stiles over his shoulder again, with that same blasted eyebrow, and then snorted and slipped back into the den to grab his pelt. He threw it over Stiles’ shoulders, wrapping his body tightly before he continued pulling Stiles towards the entrance. The cold air nipped at his flank and Stiles felt exposed, one hand drifting down to cover his genitals beneath the fur and nearly jumping out of his skin when they passed by Laura and Erica on their way to the river. Laura didn’t seem to even bat an eye, while Erica gave Stiles a look of disdain before pointedly sniffing the air and then looking away with a disgusted noise.

“Erica,” Derek snapped, pausing to give her an angry scowl. “Stop this. I made my choice. You’re going to have to accept that, and him, whether you like it or not.”

Taken aback, Erica almost dropped the wood she’d been carving into a pole, and then pointed her blade at Derek and Stiles. “Fine, you want me to accept him? He can hunt with us, then.”

Derek seemed to relax, while Stiles was silently freaking out, and nodded. “That’s fine with me,” he said, and continued tugging Stiles towards the river.

[x]

Despite how fine it was with Derek, hunting was not fine with Stiles. 

It wasn’t the hunting itself, but Erica’s tendency to run off with the other two pups and leave Stiles floundering to keep up. The first time he’d said something, she had pointed out that if he wanted to be pack, he was going to be treated like pack. Stiles had kept his mouth shut after that.

Even now, as the sun was starting to set and a light drizzle of rain came from the sky, the pups were still energetic as they hauled in their third hare, muzzles painted with blood. Stiles wiped sweat from his brow, snagging another bow from his quiver and sighing when Isaac picked his head up, ears flicking forward before he bolted. Boyd and Erica were quick to run after him, and Stiles was wheezing as he struggled to keep up.

One minute, he was barely following their trail, and the next, he’d lost his footing and was tumbling down the hillside. He scrambled at the earth to try and find something to slow his fall, but the wet earth made it impossible maintain a grip. He rolled, crying out when his shoulder caught on the side of a tree trunk, feeling something wrench as he kept sliding down. He knew his bow and arrows had been lost in the tumble, having felt them both being pulled from his body. 

Finally, Stiles managed to stop himself from falling further, one foot catching on a tree and his hand scrabbling at the side of a boulder. He panted, every part of his body aching and blood leaking sluggishly from various cuts on his body while his heart fluttered madly in his chest.

There were many steep hills in this section of the land--Derek had explained that it made for an easier method of escaping hunters-- and that Stiles hadn’t thought to be more careful about his pace made him furious with himself. He slowly eased himself onto his back, skidding a few feet down before the momentum was lost, leaving Stiles panting on his back, staring up at the treetops as rain trickled in and night began to set.

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe Derek did deserve someone better--someone like Erica. She was a faolfir as well, she could continue the bloodline, could rear him children. She could heal like he did and keep pace with him.

Stiles was pretty sure Erica wouldn’t take a tumble down a hillside and then lay there questioning her life choices, at least.

He wondered if they’d rushed things. What if Derek grew tired of him one day? What if the ache in Stiles’ chest when Derek smiles wasn’t love, just the idea of love?

Except…when Stiles thought about leaving Derek, his chest hurt even more. He felt breathless, terrified at the idea of having to continue on without Derek at his side. Derek was the one who smiled at his jokes, who teased him but never judged him. He listened to Stiles, trusted his opinion, and was the only person who had ever treated Stiles like he was worth something. 

Then there were the little things. Stiles didn’t want to lose those moments--moments like Derek tossing Stiles into an icy cold river because Stiles was too much of a child to deal with it on his own. He’d miss Derek in the mornings, confused and grumpy, always prone to shoving Stiles out of bed if he was too chatty. Stiles wanted that every day. He wanted Derek to challenge him, and he wanted to challenge Derek.

Lying in the wet grass and doubting himself was not what Stiles wanted. If he was going to marry Derek, he had to prove himself strong and worthy--he couldn’t just sit around being a helpless human.

That in mind, Stiles rolled onto his stomach, using a nearby tree to pull himself to his feet. He was wet and muddy, body aching and his left hand refusing to do anything but hang limp at his side without sending blinding agony throughout his body. Stiles grabbed at the nearest tree, pulling himself forward and then resting against it. He fumbled with his shoes, bending down to unlace the leather straps and then kicking them off. The earth was frigid, nearly frozen as winter started to set in, but he couldn’t find any traction with the soft underside of his shoes making him slip constantly.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles dug his toes into the ground, using it to push himself forward. The further the sun set, the colder it got, until Stiles could see his breath on the air, could feel bits of frost dotting his temples and hairline where moisture had gathered. 

Once the sun was gone entirely, Stiles found it difficult to navigate himself in the right direction. The treetops were thick, blocking out most of the moonlight, and the air was getting colder with each passing minute. 

Stiles finally stopped to catch his breath, toes numb and his hands shaking. He pressed his head against the trunk of the tree he was leaning on, the bark rough against his cheek. He should have thought to call for help earlier, maybe when he’d been falling. If that had been the case, surely the pups would have come for him. Now it was too late. They probably had no idea where he was.

Unbearably tired and so cold he had yet to stop shivering, Stiles bit down on the inside of his cheek and forced himself to keep moving. His lungs ached and his skin hurt, but he could already see the top of the hill drawing closer. If he could just make it up there, it would be easier to get back to Derek’s den. Stiles’ only wish was that he wasn’t so tired and cold. It was like the air itself was settling ice into his bones and drawing his energy out with each breath.

“Stiles?!” Derek’s voice was faint, but panicked. Stiles felt his heart pick up, surging forward to scramble up the hillside. “Stiles!”

“Derek!” Stiles croaked, throat so dry that it was barely above the sound of a gasp. He swallowed, biting on his tongue and swallowing a second time as he tried again. “Derek!”

Rustling, and then Stiles caught sight of two wolves at the top of the hill. The lighter one he knew was Erica, startled when she lifted her head back and let out a long, loud howl. Within seconds, Derek was bursting into Stiles’ line of sight, scrambling down the hill with one hand pressed against the earth to keep his balance. Stiles sagged against the nearest tree he could find, relief crashing into him. 

If Derek was here, Stiles was totally demanding he be carried. He was cold, tired, and cranky as hell. He deserved the royal treatment.

Derek reached Stiles in record time, and Stiles had no idea he’d gone so limp until Derek dragged him into a hug and Stiles practically flopped into his arms. “Stiles, oh gods, I looked everywhere for you.”

“You know me,” Stiles said wearily, burying his face into the warmth of Derek’s throat. Suddenly, he wanted to cry with how it made his face burn and prickle as feeling started to trickle back into his nerves, “always in the last place you look.”

Derek choked on a laugh, shifting Stiles so that he could be lifted up like a child. Going back up the hill was slow, because Derek refused to let go of him and Stiles didn’t particularly feel like saving his pride when he felt two seconds away from passing out entirely. The entire pack was at the top of the hill by the time they reached it, with Laura standing there, nude, her pelt in hand as she tossed it over Stiles’ body. Isaac did the same with his own, and Boyd was quick to follow. 

Stiles knew there was something about Derek’s people that made their human forms practically immune to injury and weather elements, but he didn’t want to think about the schematics of it when he was being bundled up in layers of fur and carried back to the mountainside.

“S-sorry,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s shoulder, “clumsy human,” he laughed, and Derek jostled him.

“Clumsy human who climbed up the side of a valley with no shoes on. More like stupid human,” he growled. Stiles squirmed, sighing when Derek shifted him so that Stiles’ cold cheek was pressed back into his throat.

“Shoes were too wet, kept falling.” Stiles reasoned. Derek snorted, carrying Stiles into his den and setting him down on the nest.

“Did I say stupid? I meant stubborn,” was the last thing Stiles heard before he finally drifted off, lulled by warm hands rubbing feeling back into his toes.

[x]

Stiles woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He was so warm he was sweating, and he could barely breathe. It took him a second to crack an eye open, feeling the pressure of Derek’s arm around his hip. They were buried under layers of fur, a tiny fire pit crackling low in the corner as Derek snored quietly into his ear. Stiles shifted, and Derek grunted, pressing in close and crushing Stiles against the nest with a snort.

Tiredly, Stiles turned to look over his shoulder, head bumping Derek’s nose and startling him awake with a huff. “Morning,” Stiles croaked. Derek shifted, slipping a knee between Stiles’ legs and hugging him tight.

“Mmnh,” he mumbled. Stiles grinned, turning around so that he could wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders and kiss him. Derek responded lazily, mouthing at Stiles’ lips and then pulling back to yawn loudly.

“Never seen a human almost get himself killed trying to stay alive,” a voice chirped from just outside the den. Stiles jerked, and Derek blinked owlishly at where Laura was popping her head into the small cave. She gave Stiles a grin, nodding at Derek. “You’re stubborn enough to be one of us. Welcome to the family.”

Stiles grinned, and Derek sat up abruptly. “You’re letting him in the pack?” he asked sounding torn between sleepy confusion and pleasant surprise. Laura grinned.

“Sure, why not? He’s as stubborn as you are--might do you some good to have someone besides me who can put you in your place every now and then.” Laura ducked her head back out before Stiles was even done gaping. Derek made a soft, disbelieving laugh, and then Stiles shrieked when he found himself pinned down against the next and peppered with kisses that tasted like Derek’s smile. 

Yeah, he could get used to this.


End file.
